


Spilling Over

by Neffectual



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Accidental wetting, Bedwetting, Clothed Wetting, Deliberate Wetting, Desperation, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Tension, Situational Humiliation, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 03:13:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5274443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neffectual/pseuds/Neffectual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seth's always had trouble holding it, and Roman's adherence to schedules doesn't help the matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ashamed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpaMightWrite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaMightWrite/gifts).



Seth’s always had poor bladder control, and he got used, on the indie circuit, to being able to go whenever - if they were in a car, they could go in a bottle and that was fine. But Roman doesn’t like that shit, and makes Seth hold it, won’t even stop if they’re not at a proper rest stop, won’t let him find a tree or a wall to stand behind along the way. More than that, he’s a slave to schedules, so if Seth sleeps through one rest stop, and they fall behind time, that’s the only stop of the day. Seth’s beginning to think he exists entirely as a pair of eyeballs and teeth floating on an ocean of piss, with the amount of time he spends desperate and clutching at himself. 

One day, they get into the hotel, Seth grabbing himself and swearing in the fucking lobby, because come on, Roman, the situation’s a little desperate, and he makes it into the bathroom just in time, but his fingers are fumbling at the button of his jeans, and he can’t get them to co-operate. Everything has felt like it’s been happening so fast, and now, time seems to go still as he feels the warmth before he hears the patter of liquid against tile, and the hiss as his bladder refuses to stop, even with his hands between his thighs, the sleeves of his hoodie soaking too.  He shouts through the door to Dean and Roman that he’s having a shower, and starts the water before desperately splashing it outside of the cubicle, all over the floor, trying to make it look like he just doesn’t understand how bathroom rugs work, rather than that he pissed all over the floor, and steps into the shower fully clothed, so everything is soaked.

When he comes out of the shower, leaving everything a wet, steamy mess, his clothes dripping water in his hands, Roman gives him a ten minute lecture about how they all have to treat the room with respect, because they have to share. He nods and tries to seem like he’s listening, horribly embarrassed by it all, but as he squeezes his thighs together the next time they’re in the car, he can’t help but remember how good it felt to just let it all go.

 

The second time it happens, he doesn’t even make it to the bathroom, just loses it in the room, on the carpet, Dean and Roman on their way up, and they get into a room with a bottle of energy drink spilled, making a huge puddle on the floor, and Seth in the shower, breathless as he shouts apologies, like he’s been running, because he can’t help but feel a little bit naughty about what he’s just done. He’s half-hard from the adrenalin, and he can’t help himself, reaches down and jerks himself off thinking about how warm it was as he let go, how good it felt after holding it for what felt like forever. He gets out of the shower and pretends it’s energy drink on the crotch of his jeans; washes them out in the sink. Roman and Dean don’t question him.

 

The third time, they’re just pulling into a rest stop – their first in six hours, and fuck it, Roman, being ten minutes late because someone needs to piss is not the worst thing that’s ever happened, can we please fucking stop more often - when he whimpers and suddenly there’s a gush of liquid over the seat, he’s wet, soaking through his jeans and he can’t stop it, can’t hold back, and he knows he’s probably crying, hair in his face, and breathing like air is hard to come by. He’s making noises high in his throat, and next thing he knows, Dean’s laughing and Roman’s shouting at him.

 “For fuck’s sake, this has a deposit on it!”

“Did you just… holy shit, Ro, he’s pissed himself!” Dean says, voice sheer delight at Seth’s misfortune, “Can you fucking believe this?”

“Fuck’s sake, Seth, why can’t you be a fucking adult for once?” Roman snarls, throws the car into park and gets out, stomping off and muttering, leaving Dean and Seth alone.

The only sound is the trickle of liquid pouring off the car seat and into the footwell, and Dean’s still laughing his ass off until he hears Seth shudder out a sob, and then suddenly it’s not funny anymore, because Seth’s crying, and Roman’s left them, so Dean gets out of the passenger seat and grabs his gym bag from the trunk, pulling out a pair of sweats and a couple of towels, ushering Seth out into the lee of the door and holding a towel up to cover him.

“Cmon, wet stuff off, sweats on.” He hangs the sweats over the car door, “Hey, breathe, slow, c’mon, slow down.”

Seth’s sobs subside as he pulls off his jeans and underwear, god, even his shoes are wet, and stands bare and sticky-footed on the asphalt as Dean wraps the towel around his waist, like he’s a fucking child, before he’s holding the other towel up in front of him again, shielding him from view.

“Seth, c’mon, breathe for me, you’re okay, it’s fine, this shit happens.”

“Not to anyone else.” The words are almost ripped from him, going slightly hysterical at the end

“Dry off, get those sweats on – “

“The seats, Roman’s gonna kill me, the seats – “

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got far worse off car seats, s’fine.”

Seth mutely towels himself off as best he can, grimacing at the feel of rough towel on damp, sticky skin, then pulls the sweats on, dropping the towel into the pile of wet clothing on the ground.

“There, see, good as new.” Dean says, easily, like he’s talking to a kid, again, and it would be fucking patronising if he hadn’t just proved he was a kid by pissing himself in the car, “Now jump in the front, and lemme take care of the seats.”

Seth doesn’t watch what Dean does, just hears the pat of cloth on cloth, Dean calm as he rubs away at the seats.

“Pass me that bottle of water?” he asks, and Seth does so, curled up in the seat with his head on his knees like he can make himself stop feeling so ashamed. With no underwear under the sweats he can feel his dick against his leg, cold and small and he feels utterly fucking pathetic. Roman’s never going to speak to him again, Dean’s cleaning up after him – he’s the worst person ever.

“Simple clean up, bit of water to lift the smell, seat’s gonna be wet for a while, but there’s only three of us and the hotel’s not much further.” Dean chats, easily, like he’s talking about the weather, and Seth hears himself sniffle in response, presses his knees closer to his head. Dean seemingly finishes with the seats, and bundles himself out of the car, Seth lifting his head just enough to see Dean scooping all his wet clothing into a bag, shoving it into the trunk, then rinsing his hands off with what’s left of the bottle of water.

When he opens the passenger door, Seth goes to stand, goes to move and go back to the back, to sit next to his puddle like a puppy in shame, but Dean presses him back into the seat and awkwardly wraps his arms around him, one hand petting his hair ever so gently. Seth buries his head in Dean’s neck and doesn’t cry, because he can’t, not like this, but he does breathe heavily into Dean’s through as the taller guy strokes his hair until it’s silky under his hand.

When Roman comes back, Dean’s on the back seat, leaning forward to braid Seth’s hair as he sits in the passenger seat, and Seth catches the look Dean throws at Roman, and how it says everything they’ll talk about later, when they get to the hotel, and Roman has the good grace to look a little ashamed.

“Seth gets first shower.” Dean says, and Roman just nods, silent, and starts the car.

 

When they get to the hotel, Dean gets the bags, shepherds Seth into the bathroom and closes the door behind them, one bag still in his hands. Seth realises which bag when Dean opens it and dumps everything into the tub, then strips off his jacket and starts running the water.

“Get in the shower once I’m doing the first wash.” Dean says, like Seth didn’t piss all over the car, like he’s not talking about scrubbing Seth’s clothes clean, “Then I can rinse this all off when you’re done – throw me my sweats, too, and your shirt if you want.”

Seth does so, wordlessly, and he thinks it should feel more awkward being naked with Dean in the room, after what he did, but he grabs the hotel shampoo anyway – though it’ll ruin his hair – and steps under the spray. There’s a knock at the door and Roman comes in.

“We having that chat now?” he asks, and Seth doesn’t want this to happen, but Roman’s reaching the shower door, and slings something over the top of the stall, “Brought your shower bag.”

And he has; Seth’s conditioner, his hairbrush, his body wash – Roman bothered to bring it for him.

“You ain’t off the hook.” Dean says, but he smiles at Roman anyway, scrubbing at the clothes in the tub with the bar of hotel soap, “But it’ll do.”

Seth nods. It’ll do.

 

After that, Roman’s a lot more careful about stopping when Seth looks uncomfortable, to the point that Dean eventually hands Seth a bottle when they’re halfway through Michigan, and says he’d like to get there sometime that night. Seth’s hands shake, and he feels eyes on him, but by the time he’s put himself away and flung the bottle out of the window, Dean’s reading a book and Roman’s eyes are firmly on the road.

Okay. So they’re not talking about this.


	2. it's a rush

With Roman stopping more often, Seth’s finding it’s possible for him to spend a car journey reading, or sleeping, rather than shoving his hands between his thighs and whimpering. So he still has to piss in a bottle every so often, but that never bothered him, just Roman, so he accepts it gratefully as an alternative to constant desperation, which had to be doing a fucking number on his kidneys. Weirdly, though, on some long drive through a little nothing state (he can’t talk, he knows what people think of Iowa, but fuck them) he thinks about how good it felt to be a little desperate sometimes, how he was tense and sore and nervous, but how letting go felt like the greatest relief in his life. With a spare bottle and the ability to call Roman to pull into a rest stop whenever he’s starting to feel the urge, Seth realises he’s not having as much fun as he used to.

So he starts to push it. He lets Roman or Dean blow past a few rest stops when they’re driving, even though he’s starting to feel a little desperate, and on a trip through Minnesota, throws the only empty bottle in the car out of the window absent-mindedly, and keeps his eyes down, not wanting anyone to see his face. The desperation mounts as he sips his second can of energy drink, left knee jiggling slightly. Roman looks over from the passenger seat, and makes eye contact, but Seth just shakes his head. Dean would stop for him, Seth knows, find a wooded area and let him out of the car for five minutes, but he doesn’t want that. They’re only an hour out from their hotel, and he’s held it for much longer than that before. He isn’t going to piss on the seats again, doesn’t want to piss on the seats – but he’ll admit it gives him a little bit of a thrill to know he’s hiding a full bladder from his teammates, and he presses his thighs together carefully. He’s half hard just from the feeling of doing something he knows he shouldn’t, knowing Dean and Roman are in the front of the car, Dean prattling on about some crazy hardcore match he had years ago, knowing just how embarrassing it would be if he lost it right now. He shifts again.

By the time they’re pulling off the freeway and fifteen, twenty minutes out from the hotel, Seth’s willing to admit this might have been a bad idea. The roads are shit, potholes everywhere, and each bump in the road makes Seth’s bladder jerk perilously. He gives up on subtlety and sticks his hand between his legs, gripping his dick as hard as he can to keep from spurting into his stupidly skinny jeans. The waistband is too tight now, cutting into his stomach and pressing right on his bladder, and he starts to whimper.

“Oh, Seth, really?” Dean says, as they hit another pothole and Seth’s other hand dives to his dick, thighs slamming shut around his hands, “We could’ve stopped earlier.”

“Didn’t need it earlier,” Seth pants back, but figures they all know it’s a lie. He’s a grown man, after all, not a five-year-old child, he knows when he needs a piss, but he can’t think about that now. Now all he’s focused on is making it into the hotel room and into the bathroom before he loses it.

“At least we made good time,” Roman adds, conversationally, and Seth wants to laugh. At least Roman’s trying, he guesses, trying not to make it too embarrassing, but he’s just so awkward, his lack of indie years shining through with just how prim and proper he can be sometimes.

“Feeling it myself a bit, to be honest,” Dean says, and as if to illustrate his point, hisses as they go over another hole in the road, although that sound is almost drowned out by Seth’s whimpering cry of need. “Clearly not as bad as you.”

“Can we not fucking talk about it?” Seth bites out, between gritted teeth.

“I dunno, you gonna piss all over the seats again?” Dean asks, his voice light and teasing, although Seth thinks Dean would probably still clean up after him if he did.

“Better fucking not.” Roman says, darkly, and winces as Dean smacks him on the arm. “What? I’m just saying, we could’ve stopped earlier.”

“And I said, can we not fucking – “ Seth cuts himself off with another wail, squeezing his dick harder as he feels a little spurt out. “This is fucking embarrassing, alright?”

Roman laughs, not an unkind sound, and shakes his head.

“When we get there, I’ll get the keys. You guys are gonna be too busy hopping from one foot to the other, I don’t want that sort of reputation.”

Seth catches sight of himself in the rear-view mirror, face pink and flushed, lower lip being chewed, eyes wide. He looks like a man on the edge, and he’s rocking in the seat, trying to find a comfortable position, or at least one that doesn’t make it feel like he’s being punched directly in the bladder. The last time he looked this needy, he was being fucked in front of a bathroom mirror by Marek Brave, at a house party when they were twenty. He thanks his lucky stars Marek isn’t here, because he’d know how to pull apart whether this is shame, arousal, or a mixture of the two.

 

Pulling into a hotel parking lot has never felt closer – and paradoxically further away – than this to relief. Dean wastes no time in parking, and he and Seth are out of the car at speed, Roman idling behind them.

“Wait by the elevators,” he says to Seth, with a meaningful look at Seth’s crotch. He looks down and risks moving his hands away, before they fly back to cover and hold himself. There’s a plainly visible wet spot on his jeans and so he nods at Roman. “And Dean, stay with him,” Roman adds, and Dean stops short, like a dog running out of leash.

“You better fucking hurry then,” Dean growls, his own hand fluttering by his hip like he wants to squeeze his dick, but isn’t going to risk doing it in a public parking lot. “You take your fucking time and I’ll piss on your face in the middle of the night.”

Seth lets out a bark of laughter that surprises him, and trails of into a whine as his bladder spasms. He meets Dean’s eyes and the two of them blast past Roman in the lobby, heading for the elevator – and catching sight of the out of service sign. Seth hops from foot to foot a little, and the two of them stand mutely by the door to the stairwell, watching Roman smile and flirt with the girl on the check in desk, who twirls a strand of dyed turquoise hair around her finger as she speaks.

“I’ll kill him,” Dean mutters, hefting his bag, “And he’ll be very surprised before he dies.”

“I’m gonna lose it,” Seth grinds out, his own bag held strategically over his groin with one hand, the other dipping behind it with a vice-like grip on his dick, like he’ll die if he lets go. Finally, after what is probably minutes but feels like a million years, Roman heads their way.

“Second floor,” he says as he opens the door to the stairs. Seth is suddenly through the door and the second it swings closed, he’s doubled over in the stairwell, whimpering. “I’ll take your bag,” Roman adds, kindly, hefting it in his grip as Seth feels a few more spurts hit his underwear.

“Fucker,” Dean hisses, before his bag is pulled from his grasp, too, and a keycard pressed into his hand.

“Go on. Just someone let me in when I knock,” Roman says, easily, and puts a soothing hand on Seth’s shoulder. He leans into it for a second, then follows Dean up the stairs as fast as he can. Each step feels like murder on his taut stomach, knees feeling weak with it, breathing in shallowly, unable to catch his breath. Every time he lifts his foot, he can feel his bladder move, and he knows he's muttering ‘fuck fuck fuck’ under his breath, but can’t take a hand off his dick long enough to put one over his mouth.

Dean beats him to the top of the stairs, but holds the door open for him, and then fights with the keycard. Seth can feel himself starting to spill as Dean pushes the room door open, so he barrels past him, ripping at his fly as he shoves into the bathroom and has a split second before he gives up and just steps into the shower stall.

“Fuck – “ Dean says as he scrambles for the toilet, pulling himself out of his jeans and then Seth is moaning as he hears the heavy flow pouring from Dean’s cock hit the water. “Oh fuck, fuck, that’s so good, fuck.”

Seth doesn’t realise he’s let go until Dean’s stream tapers off, and he can hear the patter of liquid on the plastic floor of the shower. His jeans are drenched, the flow having spilt mostly down his left leg, but his right suffering some drips as well. He’s out of breath with the relief of it when it finally stops flowing, and goes pink when he realises he’s half-hard, too. Dean turns before he’s even tucked himself away, and Seth can’t help but look at his cock, red, thickening as Seth watches, and Dean looks up, meeting his eyes. There’s a moment between them, and Seth goes from half-hard to straining at the fly of his soaked jeans.

Confusingly, Seth doesn’t feel like he had in the car, can feel the creep of shame, but not the same way it overwhelmed him then. He meets Dean’s eyes and knows he’s blushing, pink and hot, but also knows that the thrill of arousal is overpowering it. He doesn’t know if it’s because Dean’s looking at him with hungry eyes and fattening cock, but he squeezes his thighs together anyway, around his own hard dick. Before he can really stop himself, he falls to his knees, and looks up at Dean.

“Fuck…” Dean groans out, and Seth can feel previously dry parts of his jeans soaking up wetness with the new position, realises with a jolt that his shoes and socks are still on, are soaked along with everything else.

“Let me…?” Seth asks, breathlessly, Dean already stepping forward, hands moving to grip Seth’s hair as he tugs Seth’s head towards him, closer to his dick. Seth takes a breath, long and deep through his mouth, and he can almost taste the acrid tang of piss still clinging to the head of Dean’s dick. He flicks the tip with his tongue, Dean’s moan loud in the silence of the room.

“Come on, you fucking assholes!” Dean jerks back, stuffing his dick away as they hear Roman shout from the door, pounding on it, a sound neither of them had heard when they were trapped in this strange tension, and Seth can feel the mood they were building, whatever it was, dissipate almost immediately. Dean doesn’t meet his eyes as he zips his fly and heads for the bathroom door, and the rush of shame that Seth was expecting earlier comes in full force. Before, he felt naughty, dirty, maybe a little sexy, but now the hot shame is contrasting with the cooling of his wet jeans and feet. He shuffles to his feet awkwardly, before starting to strip off his shoes and socks just as Roman walks in.

“Couldn’t wait, huh?” Roman says, easily, as he looses his own dick to piss strongly into the toilet, seemingly not perturbed at all by Seth peeling off his soaked jeans next to him. “Seems like we all forgot we could stop for ourselves, and not just you.”

Horrifyingly, Seth feels a sob pulls out of his chest – it’s too much, Dean, the confusing rush of arousal, and now the shame he associates with Roman seeing him like this – and he pulls his jeans off his feet to hide it, shoes and socks already set aside. When he lifts his head and straightens up again, Roman is right there, almost as if he’s thinking of stepping into the shower with Seth.

“You’d been holding that for a while,” Roman says, and it’s not a question, as he finishes tucking himself away with one hand, and reaches to flush the toilet with the other. When he breaks contact with Seth’s eyes, it’s to stare openly at his clinging boxer briefs where Seth’s cock has only lost some of the message that arousal isn’t what he should be feeling now. Grey, of all colours, he thinks, so his wetness is keenly obvious to Roman.

“Yeah,” Seth replies, voice small and hoarse, as he chokes out another sob.

Roman’s hand in his hair, stroking softly, is something he didn’t expect, and it makes the tears come, hot and heavy. Roman doesn’t move away, so Seth just rests his head on the bigger man’s shoulder and cries, heaving breaths and harsh noises. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, a cooling puddle of piss around his feet and barely a dry patch on his underwear, but Roman makes soothing noises the whole time, until he finally pulls back.

“Sorry,” he says, and scrubs at his eyes with a fist, wishing he wasn’t so… weird. “You don’t want to touch me, I’m disgusting.”

There’s a long pause where Roman looks – just looks – at him, eyes dark with something Seth couldn’t name if he was asked.

“Shower off,” Roman says, at last, voice surprisingly soft and quiet. “We’ll order food to be here when you get out.”

Seth watches him leave, and then turns the water as hot as it goes. He scrubs and scrubs, before pulling on old sweats and a soft, threadbare t-shirt, but even later, tucked up between Dean and Roman on a crappy double bed, eating Chinese takeout straight from the box while something plays on the TV in the background, he can’t shake the feeling of being unclean.


	3. an accident

There’s a weird tension in the car now when they travel, Dean seeming to deliberately ignore Seth’s noises of desperation and need when he chooses to hold it instead of stopping straight away. Roman heaves the occasional sigh, but mostly leaves the two of them to it, and Seth’s pretty sure he’s seen a few flashes of something in Roman’s eyes that he doesn’t want to think about too hard.

Sometimes Roman doesn’t notice, sometimes it seems like Dean doesn’t want to play, and he’ll stop the car on some deserted stretch of highway and make Seth get out of the car, telling him to stop making a fuss because no one but them is going to see. When Seth gets back into the car after pissing next to a road sign, or a cactus, or in a massive stretch of nothing – thanks Dean – he’ll sometimes spot Roman giving Dean a look, or hear the tail end of a conversation, and he tries not to worry about what they think of him.

This time, it’s a fairly wooded area, actually, and Seth ducks behind a tree to unzip, pulling himself out and staring straight ahead. Which is why he jumps and squawks when cold hands slip under his shirt and one slides forwards to rest on his bladder.

“Shh,” comes the voice and fuck, Seth had thought it would be Dean coming out here to tease him, but it’s Roman, glorious Roman, pushing down on his bladder and making him whine. “C’mon, Seth, let it go.”

Of course. Roman and his schedules. Seth tries to avoid thinking about what he wants right now, because he isn’t even sure how to voice it, or what it really is, but he knows enough that Roman’s hands are soft against him, pushing down, emptying him out, and he makes a tiny noise, half a whimper, as Roman kisses the side of his head. It shouldn’t be a big thing – they do it all the time in the ring, kisses to the head or gentle headbutts like they’re playful dinosaurs, but this is different as the last trickles hit the dry ground. Roman’s hands move away, and by the time Seth’s got himself tucked away again, Roman’s gone. When he gets back to the car, Dean and Roman have swapped places, Roman in the driver’s seat this time, and are swapping stories about someone they knew back in Florida. Dean sometimes seems to know everyone.

“Took your time,” Dean says, when Seth gets into the back seat and buckles himself back in. “Ro wasn’t gone nearly as long as you.”

It’s almost worth it when Seth holds it for the next two hours, and watches Roman shift awkwardly in his seat. Yeah, he thinks. Let’s see how you like it.

The next time they stop, Seth’s practically running for the nearest tree, but Roman’s not much better, and Dean’s laughter follows them both back into the woods. It’s a shock, therefore, when there’s a hand on his hip, and Roman’s there again, sliding his hand against Seth’s hipbone as the same time as he points his own dick at the base of the tree Seth’s facing. Nothing weird here, Seth tries to tell himself, just two guys having a piss right next to each other in a huge stretch of woodland, yup, totally normal.

“Enjoy watching me squirm?” Roman asks, voice low as his hand drifts lower stroking down Seth’s inner thigh and making him twitch, making his stream jerk before he gets control of himself and points himself down again. Frustratingly, he can feel his dick wanting to get hard, blocking his ability to piss, and he bites his lip, frustrated. He’s so full, so full that he thinks he’ll lose it in the car if he can’t go now, but with Roman now stroking his balls softly, he can’t manage it.

“Fuck off,” he hisses back at Roman, who finishes up, trails of liquid in the dirt leaving wet lines as they run towards Seth’s shoes. “I can’t go with you… watching me.”

Roman’s hands are off him as quickly as they’d arrived, and once more, he disappears without a backwards glance. It takes Seth what feels like a full minute for him to soften enough to start pissing properly again, and he resists the urge to play his fingers through his stream like he sort of wants to.

“Aren’t you done yet?” Dean asks, and Seth jumps again, piss splattering near Dean’s shoes as the other man comes up behind him. “How much can that walnut bladder of yours hold?”

It’s just Dean, Seth tells himself, Dean’s always too touchy-feely, he’s always too close, it doesn’t mean anything when he does it, and he’s always curious about gross things. Just ignore him, he’ll go away. What Dean does, instead, is slot his hips neatly against Seth’s ass, leaning over his shoulder to watch him piss, though truthfully, Seth’s only got a couple of spurts left in him now. He forces them out, tells his stubborn dick not to start chubbing up, and tucks himself away.

“Fuck off, weirdo,” he says, affectionately, and goes to use the hand that was holding his dick to push Dean’s head away. Instead of jerking back, Dean leans forwards and sucks two fingers into his mouth, practically purring as he swallows around them. Seth’s the one who finds himself pulling back, but slowly, and turns to look Dean in the eye. “Are we on a schedule, or not?”

“Race you to the car,” Dean grins, and sprints off between the trees. Seth is fast on his heels, and by the time he reaches the car, any flush in his cheeks can be played off as exertion and adrenalin. He hopes.

 

Seth tells himself that it’s perfectly natural to experiment with… whatever this is, but three people to a hotel room does not make it easy. Especially with how they’ve been playing with him lately – Seth doesn’t know what his brothers think they’re doing, but it alternately confuses him and turns him on, and Seth’s spent too many nights in the shower, pissing on his own feet and hoping he locked the door, to cope with it for much longer. It’s a relief, therefore, when there’s a chance for a room alone for one of them

“Mine,” Seth says, too fast, and Dean gives him a weird look. Normally it’s one of them who gets the single room, Seth happy to tuck himself up wherever, despite his usual prima donna nature. Roman isn’t used to the indie life, so more often than not it’s him who gets the single room, but sometimes Dean wants to pick up the sort of woman who minds being fucked in a bathroom while two other guys watch TV in the room outside, and so he takes it and is disgustingly chipper in the morning, giving them too much detail over whatever their shitty motel considers breakfast. Seth, however… he’s used to travelling in groups with guys he barely knows, jerking off silently in the shower – and he's got brothers, too, so he’s used to just ignoring whatever someone else in a room is getting up to.

“Hey, sometimes it’s my turn to get laid,” Seth says, and smirks. “The ladies are falling over themselves for some of this dick, and they don’t want you two losers staring.” He’s not sure if he’s imagining the look on Roman’s face before the big guy laughs.

“You mean you wanna find a really freaky chick and bang her six different ways without giving us a show?” he asks, and pouts. “Sharing is caring, baby.”

Seth shivers at the pet name, and tries not to think about what Roman might call him if he knew what Seth was thinking about doing. It’s been three weeks since he last pissed himself, and the only consolation to it is knowing Dean nearly lost it, too. But it had felt so fucking good to let go with Dean stood right there, to see Dean pissing, looking at him like he was one of the really filthy girls he sometimes fucked in alleys outside arenas. And the way Roman had looked at him, the way both of their hands had felt on him, the way they’d both touched him… fuck. He feels himself chubbing up and blushes.

“Oh yeah,” Dean growls, “he’s gonna find himself a real dirty slut tonight.”

Or be one, Seth thinks, and squeezes his thighs together.

 

The three of them end up at a bar, which isn’t unusual if they’re not needed the next morning, and Seth notices Dean sneaking him looks as he drinks a little more than usual.

“Gotta be careful, Seth – don’t wanna end up disappointing whatever you girl you’re bringing back,” he says, and grins.

“Nice of you to worry about my dick,” Seth fires back, and laughs at Dean’s face. “It appreciates it.”

“You never worry about mine,” Roman rumbles, his tone thoroughly amused as he flutters his eyelashes at Dean and pouts theatrically. Dean shoves him, hard.

“Your dick is big enough and ugly enough to look after itself,” Dean retorts, then seems to realise what he’s just said.

“You been looking?” Seth asks, waggling his eyebrows. He’s feeling the drinks now, can feel the buzz and sing of alcohol in his blood, and feel them starting to hit his bladder, too. It’s not even that late, and he’s only three drinks in, but he’s always been a lightweight when it comes to this, no matter how much muscle bulk he manages to put on his body.

“No!” Dean protests, a little too vehemently, and the flush in his cheeks doesn’t look like it’s all alcohol induced.

“Sure,” Roman says, charitably, and wraps an arm around each of them, the three of them filling the booth. “Besides, we all remember each other in trunks – it’s not like I was easy to miss.”

It’s Seth’s turn to blush. He’s never felt he fills out trunks as well as he’d like, and it’s no secret that he’s not packing the biggest equipment in the locker room. He’s not small, not really, just average, but in a room full of men on whom nothing is average, he can’t help but feel a bit… lacking. He doesn’t usually hook up with strangers, because he worries they’ll be disappointed after what they’ve seen in the ring, that they’ll expect more from him. No one ever says anything, but he can’t help but think some girls wanted a little more Rollins for their time.

“Eurgh, enough talking about dicks,” Seth hears himself say, too loudly, and tries not to remember being on his knees in his own wetness in front of Dean, or Roman’s hand on his stomach, pressing down.

“Yeah, Rollins wants to get some pussy tonight!” Dean crows and Seth fights the urge to see if people nearby have heard. Dean’s always too brash, doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him, and will say anything that drops into his head.

“Shots,” Roman says, tone low, and Seth looks at him with utter venom in his eyes, like Roman doesn’t know what a damn lightweight he is. “Those’ll get Seth in the mood to get his dick wet.”

Seth struggles not to blush, something he was told he’d grow out of as a teen, and never has. He hates it, the way it makes him feel, how vulnerable he is when all his emotions are on display like this.

“Don’t be shy about it,” Dean says, grinning. “That’s no way to get what you want.”

“Oh, you have no idea what I want,” Seth shoots back, and watches Dean’s cheeks go pink, too, wonders if they’re both thinking about the same thing, Dean’s mouth around Seth’s fingers, what that would feel like if Seth’s fingers were wet with piss, whether Dean would revel in the taste. The problem is, Seth thinks, maybe both of them know far too much about what Seth is really after.

 

Seth realises he’s made a mistake as soon as the pint of water is placed in front of him, but he’s had too much alcohol not to properly hydrate himself before heading to bed. Roman and Dean patted him on the back ten minutes ago, heading to their room to sleep off the booze, and Seth’s getting ready to put his plan into action. They’ve left him so he can pick up a girl, of course, although there’s only two people left in the bar at this point, both big, burly guys who look like serious drinkers. He sips slowly at the glass of water, hoping to leave it long enough that he won’t bump into Dean and Roman weaving their way back to the hotel, or stopping to piss in an alley somewhere.

He lets himself fantasise about that for a second, thinks about walking past the mouth of a grubby alleyway and hearing Dean call out to him. Roman would be pissing first, strong, heavy stream hitting the brickwork, and Seth would drop to his knees in front of him, let it hit him on the chest and thighs. He thinks Roman would aim for his cock, soak him through, wonders if he’d let him lick him clean before that glorious dick was put away. Then, Dean, hopping from foot to foot waiting for his turn, and Seth knows Dean would aim for his face, and he wonders if he’d have enough confidence to open his mouth, to let Dean’s spray cover his tongue, to swallow down a few mouthfuls. Dean would soak his hair, too, Seth thinks, and it isn’t until he spills a little water down his chest, drunken hands slipping, that he realises he’s very hard in a seedy bar, alone, and that his bladder is screaming for attention. Fuck.

He leaves half the pint on the table, and staggers to the door, patting his pockets to make sure he’s got his room key, wallet and phone, before heading out into the night. The air hits him hard, makes him reel, and he hopes he can remember the way back to the hotel. It’s only a few blocks away, but he’s fucking desperate to piss, cock still hard and throbbing, and he can’t help but plunge a hand into his hair and tug for a second, trying to pull himself out of the fantasy. They’re your friends, he thinks, but they’re not gonna give you that, you don’t even know if you want that. That’s true enough, and combined with the cold air, it conspires to sober him up a little. That’s not what he wants, knows if he’s not still drunk when he gets back to the hotel that he won’t dare to do anything, to play with this something that he knows he needs. The certainty has come with the alcohol, that this is something he desires, something that makes him hard like nothing else, and he dimly wonders if he’ll be this certain tomorrow, but that’s for another time.

The cold air isn’t helping his bladder, becoming a pressing issue to the point that, when he reaches the hotel, he has to double over and clutch at himself for a second before he’s got enough control to head into the lobby. In the elevator to the third floor, he lets go of all pretence and jams both hands into his crotch, whimpering a little. The ride up seems to take forever, and he can’t stop holding himself, thighs squeezed together like he’ll die if he moves, like it’ll be worse than a puddle all over the floor and wet jeans. When the door opens, he half-waddles, half-sprints for the corridor, heading towards his room. He fumbles the cardkey three or four times once he gets there, trying to get into his room quietly, with one hand on his dick, before he remembers that it’s a single, and there’s no one there to wake up if he just charges into the room. Finally, he flings the door open and staggers inside, door slamming shut behind him. He shushes himself theatrically, and flops face-first onto the bed. There’s an immediate shot of regret as his overfull bladder hits the bed, and he almost cries out at the sensation. Crawling onto the bed properly, he wriggles out of his clothes, whimpering softly as every move tests his straining bladder, but he isn’t fully soft, either.

Once he’s naked, he flops on his back, stroking his hands over his stomach and giggling a little at himself, for thinking about piss all night, for drinking too much, for considering what Dean and Roman could do with him. It’s silly, he knows that, knows they’ll never be interested in that with him, knows he isn’t really into it. No, that’s a lie he can’t tell himself when he’s this drunk, when beer and shots are bringing out the truth – he knows what he wants, knows what he wants is filthy, disgusting, knows no one will ever want to indulge him in this sick lust, knows he’s alone in this. His stomach bulges against his hands, bladder so full that he can feel his thighs shaking, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s got a hand on his dick, jerking himself viciously. He doesn’t think he softened fully after the bar, and lets himself drift again, thinking of Roman and Dean above him, their streams soaking his hair and body, thinks of letting go, being in a puddle of their mess and his own.

It’s warm, he thinks, warm and wet, feels like being wanted and adored, and he’s wriggling down the bed, putting his feet flat on it so he can arch his hips up and fuck his fist. It feels slicker, wetter than before, and suddenly it’s easier to feel his arousal building, even as he notices he’s feeling a little sticky and chilled where before his skin was so hot. He opens his eyes as he tilts his head back, feels the back of his head wet with sweat, dripping down his neck – and realises that it’s not sweat at all as he feels the cooling puddle around his hips, his left hand soaked where it lies in the piss soaking into the sheets underneath him. He groans, unbidden, the sound long and loud, and comes hard, shooting all over his wet belly and thighs, thrashing a little with the overload of sensation as his wet hair touches his face, and he turns his head sideways, lapping at the salty sheets.

“Fuck!” It’s the first audible word he says as he sits up and looks at the chaos around him. The bed is soaked, his clothes wet where he’d abandoned them on the bed, even his hair is dripping where he’d crawled down the bed and into the pool of piss on the blankets. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He wipes unsteadily at the come on his belly and tries to get to the edge of the bed, the hot shame creeping over him as his movements make the puddle on the bed shit, wetting clean, dry parts of the bed. The tears are at the corners of his eyes, waiting, and he feels cold, wet, dirty, wrong – he’s so fucking stupid! He’s always fucking up, he knows this, doesn’t know why he ever tries to do anything. Sobriety is creeping over him like an ice bath, and it’s probably helped along by the cooling piss on his body and hair. Fuck. One bed. One bed, his clothes are soaked, the bed’s still dripping onto the – fuck – carpet.

Seth doesn’t know how long he sits on the edge of the bed, but it’s long enough that he’s shivering, and the sheets and blankets have soaked up all his piss. It’s long enough that he needs to go again, and while he stands, staggering to the bathroom, he finds his bladder letting go without his command, piss dripping down his legs as he steps onto the tile. He sags against the wall, not bothering to make it to the toilet, and watches the as the off-white tiles are swamped with a wave of soft yellow piss, feels the heat of the puddle around his feet, a welcome change from the way it’s cooling on his body. He’s crying now, bawling, and knows that anyone in the room next to him can probably hear the sobs – he’s such a fuck up, he’s ruined the room, he’s ruined his fucking life, because someone will hear about this, someone will call the gossip sites, someone’s going to find out about this and he’s never going to be able to show his face anywhere near a wrestling ring ever again. There’s only one answer. He just doesn’t want to admit to it.


	4. truth

“Holy shit,” Dean says, as Seth answers the door, half-naked and still dripping water from the shower, trying to pull himself together. Roman hustles in behind him, closes the door, and the two of them stare in a sort of horrified wonder at the wreck of the room before them. Seth’s heart is in his mouth as Dean takes strides towards the bed and stares at it. Then he palms himself through his sweats, almost absently, and Seth can see his cock stiffening, a neat little half-chub that proves he’s not wearing underwear. The shame hasn’t yet left Seth, but underneath it there’s still the burn of arousal, even though he came so hard in the bed that he thought he could see stars.

The bed’s a write off, it’s plainly obvious. Piss has dripped off the sides and onto the carpet, which Seth figures at least means the mattress is okay, protected by a plastic sheet, but it’s puddled everywhere.

“So, she do this while you were in the shower after, or…?” Dean asks, with a hint of dark humour as he stares at the ruin of the sheets.

“While I was fucking her,” Seth says, and then curses himself. Why did he say that?

Roman laughs, a rich, filthy sound that makes Seth want to cringe at the implied amusement being aimed towards him and his predicament.

“There’s jizz on this bed, “Dean says, suddenly, like he’s the fucking Sherlock Holmes of mysterious stains in hotel rooms, and Seth freezes – what the hell is he supposed to say? “Fucking some random chick bare, Seth? That’s a fucking stupid idea.”

“I wasn’t – “ Seth starts, to say, and bites his tongue. What else is a good answer? At least fucking a girl bare makes it seem like he can find a girl to fuck, not like he’s hanging out in motel room at 3am, fucking up into his fist and pissing all over himself.

“You mean…?” Roman trails off and exchanges a look with Dean before he licks his lips. “Seth, were you fucking a guy in here?”

Seth’s face has clearly gone red thinking about how to explain this to them, he knows it must have, because he can feel his cheeks burning and there are tears forming in his eyes. One drips down his cheek.

“Oh, Seth,” Roman says, softly. “It’s okay, man, we ain’t judging.”

“Really,” Seth snaps. “I get you to come to my room at 3am, it’s covered in piss, and I tell you some slut did this while I was fucking… them, and you’re not judging? Well, excuse me while I exist in the real world, Roman, but I don’t believe you.” He leans against the wall and stares at the wreckage of the bed, tears sliding down his face even as he sets his mouth into a snarl.

“I’m judging you,” Dean says, breaking the silence. “I’m judging the hell out of you for this, just so you know.”

This is it, Seth thinks, this is where they stop calling him friend or brother, this is where the easy camaraderie ends and they refuse to travel with him. He doesn’t know why he thought that they would help solve this problem for him, instead of just laughing and leaving him to deal with it in his shame.

“Why didn’t you tell us you liked guys?” Dean bursts out, as Seth’s busy studying his own bare feet. He’d dragged on sweats with no underwear before he called Roman, and the sensation reminds him of a car journey. It feels a million miles from here, now, and a thousand years ago. He sniffles miserably.

“Seth?” Roman prompts, and suddenly it’s all boiling out of him.

“Because I knew you’d act like this. Because I knew you’d act like this is the worst thing I could ever do. We’ve shared beds and bathrooms and stories about old girlfriends, and now I tell you the ones about that really wild girl were about Jimmy Jacobs!” He goes to sit on the bed, then remembers that it’s wrecked and soaked, so stalks back to the wall by the bathroom, and slumps against it, refusing to look at either of the other men.

“Well, I wouldn’t have been surprised,” Dean says, and Seth looks up and catches his eye. He’s grinning, a wicked, filthy grin that Seth last saw when Dean was sucking his fingers, and it makes Seth’s cheeks flush with something that’s a little more arousal than shame. “A lot of my really kinky shit was with him, too.”

Both of them look at Roman.

“My old tag partner, Mike Dalton,” he says, shuffling his feet. “Plus a few handjobs and shit back in my football days. We didn’t all get the indie weird sex induction to the biz.”

“Would’ve been weirder if you did,” Dean opines, “seeing as it’s a family business for you.”

Roman’s expression changes, ever so slightly, and Dean gapes at him.

“Oh, shut up,” Roman mutters. “It was spin the bottle, we were twelve.”

Seth can’t help himself, he’s been too tense for too long. He cackles out a laugh.

“Please, please tell me your first kiss with a guy was with a Jimmy, too.”

Roman’s so red that Seth thinks he might actually injure himself.

“It was Jey,” he says, muttering in the hope that they won’t hear him, but Dean’s crowing laughter fills the room. Roman makes a face at Seth as he joins in, but he can’t help himself. It’s a relief, the three of them laughing together, and Seth doesn’t resist when Dean drags him in close, kissing the side of his head.

“Seriously, man,” Dean says, softly, “I’m judging the hell out of you for not telling us you were into guys. I’d’ve been all over you. You know, if you wanted.”

Seth flushes at that, and Roman pulls them both into his arms, against his chest, and Seth can hear his heart beating as Roman kisses his hair. Roman’s heart sounds like thunder, and Seth can’t help but burrow a little closer, pulling Dean in tight to his body as well.

“I might have beaten you to him,” Roman murmurs, nuzzling his cheek against Seth’s hair. “Or… we might have shared him.”

Seth’s body shudders, hard, at that idea, the thought of being between these two strong, gorgeous men. He wants to lean up and kiss them, but doesn’t dare. He pushed away, instead, and looks at the room.

“What the hell are we gonna tell the front desk?” he asks. Dean grins.

“I’ve got an idea.”

 

Dean’s idea turns out to be reporting Seth’s room as being broken into, and fucking with the lock for a minute to make it believable. The hotel offers him another room, but at the shake of Dean’s head, Seth says now, and takes the refund, packing up his bags and leaving the room. Then he lets his friends lead him to their room, and Seth tries not to blush when Dean pushes his sweats down to reveal that he’s naked underneath them. He slides Seth’s sweats down, too, leaving both of them exposed to the cooler air and Roman’s heavy gaze.

“Another time,” Dean says, pressing a kiss to Seth’s thigh, before sending him to put some underwear on. It’s 5am by the time all three of them are tucked up in the bed, Seth in the middle, with Dean’s hand resting just above the swell of his ass, and his face slotted into the space between Roman’s neck and shoulder. He wonders what it would be like to be naked between them, to be pressed together, Roman hard and hot against his hip, Dean pressing up against his ass.

“Seth, whatever you’re thinking about, can it wait until morning?” Roman mumbles, voice like gravel.

“He over-thinking again?” Dean asks, muzzily, breath stirring the hair on the back of Seth’s neck. “Stop fretting, Seth.”

Roman chuckles quietly, and his arm stretches over Seth to stroke at Dean’s side, making the man behind Seth huff out a small sound of pleasure.

“Nah, he’s just getting hard, and it’s distracting when I’m trying to sleep,” Roman says, and they both listen to Dean’s snigger in the darkness, feel his body shake slightly with the laughter.

“Tomorrow, Seth,” Dean murmurs, slipping his hand further down for a moment, sliding over Seth’s ass, before his hand curves back up to around Seth’s waist, tucking between Seth and Roman’s bodies. “Tomorrow, Ro and I will work you over like you’ve never had it before.”

Seth makes a little noise of pleasure, and rocks his hips, feeling both men hold him tighter for a second, before they back off a little, giving him some room to settle down for sleep.

“Promise?” Seth asks, sleepily, lips against Roman’s neck, wishing he was brave enough to press a kiss to the skin there.

“Promise,” Roman says, softly. “Now go to sleep.”

“Don’t wet the bed.” Dean whispers, exhausted amusement rampant in his voice.

Seth’s eyes snap open, and the bed suddenly feels cold, despite the banked heat of the men next to him. As their breathing evens out, and Dean starts to snore, Seth lies between them, staring up at the ceiling, trying to calm his racing heart. It takes a long time before he eventually falls asleep.


End file.
